I set about making a few vats of carrot juice, glug a gallon or two with a Centrum chaser. I shall remain healthy if it kills me. This provides enough energy to bake a dozen muffins with the left over pulp.
Small people perseverate on the usual matters with one new addition, “not a stork, it's an egg head!”
Ordinarily I would enquire into the source but I am far too grumpy.
It's probably something to do with storks and babies, and I am in no mood to commence a sex education lecture to a seven year old.
I swallow another couple of Advil as I can’t afford to be wiped out by Vicodin. In an ideal world I would opt for a pout but I can only just manage a glower, which I hope is enigmatic.
Spouse has abandoned us once again, back to England. I had anticipated a 'love, honour and obey in sickness' phase of marriage. Especially the 'obey' part. I had hoped to bask in his attention and affection after my latest visit to the dental surgeon. Unfortunately he has chosen the 'honour thy father and mother' option, as the threat of death and taxes, clearly trumps “dental implants.”
But I can still moan about it and exercise one of my more finely honed talents. I stagger around with an ice-pack clamped to my jaw and a similarly frosty exterior.
I consider adopting a martyred air, but it’s pointless unless you have an audience. My audience is tuned out, oblivious to my delicate disposition. We continue to charge about in the 90 degree heat and I am on underwear duty, which means that everyone must be wearing some. All other garments are optional, not that I am a minimalist, more of a defeatist.
An absent father means that this is an ideal time to make unreasonable demands and throw the rule book out. Everyone is determined to check whether or not the same rules apply that have applied since their birth.
“But why do I have to flush the loo?”
“No teef cleaning rule! Why I am bed now at clock eight?”
“Not a stork, it's an egg head!”
The troops are revolting and I have a hard time maintaining law and order with a clip board, pencil and grunting noises.
By bed time I am uncertain who is the most fatigued as we flop onto the sofa for story time.
“Shall we read to ourselves Mom?”
“Do you mean yes? Jus nod yur head.”
I grab the clip board and write 'yes please.'
“Don be listen ta her! Not a stork, it's an egg head!”
I reach for the clip board again as I just have to know.
'do you know where that phrase comes from?'
She reads with care and then glances back at me.
“Have yah looked in the mirror today?”
If you laugh I swear I’ll stab you with a “spork.”